


Mind Over Matter

by willgrahamchops



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, Handcuffs, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willgrahamchops/pseuds/willgrahamchops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete laughs, but Mikey can tell he’s nervous.</p><p>“Fine,” he says. “Do something psychic. Levitate my TV or some shit.”</p><p>“It’s not like <i>that</i>,” Gerard pipes up indignantly. “That’s telekin<i>esis</i>, asshole.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind Over Matter

The famous Way telepathy: a sort of in-joke on tour, the way Gerard and Mikey always seemed to know where to find the other. It was funny, really, because they still got lost all the fucking time, but they only got lost _together_. If Mikey was sitting on the couch and Gerard hadn’t made bus call, Gerard wasn’t _lost_ , just late.

“He’s smoking on the roof,” Mikey would say. “You know, being all deep and shit.” Gerard always showed up a few minutes later, wind-swept and breathless.

It was their fault for letting it perpetuate, really, but they didn’t see what harm it could do. Maybe by playing along they were throwing the rest of the tour off the scent. It wasn’t like it was hard to hide the really weird aspects of it, either. They still talked to each other out loud even when they were alone, out of habit.

Two albums and still going strong. It wasn’t hiding things from the band that was the problem. It was hiding things from each other. Or in Mikey’s case, not.

Gerard had known about his little fling with Pete since they first made heart-eyes at each other. He’d been there when they first kissed. Pete had cornered Mikey after a show and taken advantage of the stage-high by shoving his tongue down Mikey’s throat, and Mikey didn’t realize who it was until he pulled away. He’d been there for their first date, when Pete took Mikey to Circle K because catering burnt the coffee again, and they sat out back with their drinks while Mikey meticulously sorted the contents of three bags of skittles by color and fed the green ones to Pete (because the green ones were gross.)

He was really happy for the two of them. Really. He wasn’t particularly attracted to Pete, but Mikey was, and Pete was a really good kisser and it kind of gave them butterflies when he lent Mikey his hoodie and everything smelled like him for three days.

Mikey and Pete had a very active sex life. That wasn’t the problem either -- Gerard was getting to that. No, the sex was awesome in a rushed, sweaty, Pete’s-deodorant-smells-like-a-sleazy-bar sort of way. The _problem_ was that Pete thought he was only fucking Mikey. Gerard had some serious moral quandaries about that, and worse, he seemed to be the only one.

It happened pretty spontaneously, because they took what alone time they could get in the sea of curfews and deadlines and faulty equipment. Once, Gerard was in the bus studio with Ray, recording a goddamn demo, when he suddenly had his cock up Pete’s ass. He had been so wrapped up in not fucking up the harmony that he’d missed the foreplay entirely, but when it hit him he actually groaned into the mic. It had been a fucking good take, too.

“Woah, man, you okay?” Ray asked, quickly pausing the recording. He might have written it off as Gerard’s standard sex-noises-while-singing thing, except he was halfway through a goddamn line and it was _way_ out of key.

“Fine, shit,” Gerard choked. “Feeling sick. Be right back.”

He proceeded to lock himself in the bathroom until they were done, not daring to touch himself because, unlike the studio, the bathroom was most definitely not soundproofed, and he didn’t think Ray would appreciate him dropping out mid-song to jerk off.  
Most of the time, though, it was when they both had free time, and Gerard usually had ample warning. Like, if Mikey was hanging out with Pete in the first place, that was warning. It didn’t bother him when he could prepare -- grab a coke and settle down in his bunk in the empty bus, lazily palming himself through his jeans.

Sometimes he fucked with Mikey, just because he could. He’d take a big swig of Coke right when they leaned in to kiss, and Mikey would kind of mentally roll his eyes like _come on, I’m busy here._ He really wanted to know if Pete could taste it too. Probably not. But how cool would it be if he could?

One time, right when Mikey was about to come, he concentrated really hard on the empty cereal box at the foot of his bed, so Mikey came with the image of the Captain Crunch guy in his head, the unfortunate side effect being that Mikey pulled the same shit the next time Gerard was jerking off, except with Count Chocula. And that was just wrong.

He still felt bad about it after it was over -- the sex thing, not the cereal thing. It wasn’t just that Pete didn’t know, it was that Gerard inevitably ended up distracting Mikey, so Pete didn’t get his full attention. It would have been so much easier if it was a closed loop. Instead, Mikey was the go-between. That wasn’t fair to him either.

Mikey knew all of this, of course, and he reassured Gerard every time. Once in particular, Gerard was curled on his side in his bunk, bent over the dresser in Ron Welty’s hotel room (because The Offspring had a gas leak in their bus and because Pete knew fucking everyone.)

Fall Out Boy had played a kickass show the previous night, and Pete was still riding it out, which meant that he was slamming into Mikey hard enough that Gerard could feel the edge of the dresser digging into his belly. Pete held Mikey’s hands behind his back with one hand. Mikey totally got off on being pinned down and stuff, but it also meant he couldn’t relieve the irritating pressure. Gerard made up for that by rubbing the spot on his own stomach. It was when Mikey smiled inwardly and sent him a little ‘thanks’ that their connection opened; the floodgates broke. Suddenly, it was all discomfort and guilt.

Mikey understood in a split second, and he immediately sent over reassurance and good vibes, squeezing around Pete’s cock for that gratifying little moan. ‘See, he likes us,’ Mikey thought. ‘He likes you too. He can feel you, I think. He just doesn’t know you’re not a part of me.’

Gerard wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t a part of Mikey either.

Eventually, though, he made Mikey try to explain. He knew he was being selfish, but he just couldn’t keep doing this. Pete, of course, had always been a wild card.

“You’re bullshitting me, right?”

They’re in Fall Out Boy’s bus, on the couch. The lock on their door is broken but it swings inward and Pete has taken the liberty of jamming a practice amp up against it, keeping it shut. Mikey and Gerard sit side by side, hips pressed tightly together, while Pete lounges on the opposite arm. Gerard fidgets, but Mikey is the very picture of confidence.

“We’re not,” he says simply.

Pete laughs, but Mikey can tell he’s nervous.

“Fine,” he says. “Do something psychic. Levitate my TV or some shit.”

“It’s not like _that_ ,” Gerard pipes up indignantly. “That’s telekin _esis_ , asshole.”

He scoffs, characteristically unimpressed. Which pisses Gerard off.

“We read each other’s minds, is what it means,” he pouts. “Which means all this time Mikey’s been fucking you, _I’ve_ been fucking you.”

This actually makes Pete stop and consider. A brief expression of bewilderment crosses his face before he’s right back to cocky. “You’re fucking with me,” he repeats. “And this is a _horrible_ way to out yourself.”

Gerard scrunches up his face. “Goddammit, I’m not--”

“We’re not lying,” Mikey assures him. “You can test us.”

“Fine,” Pete says, feeling around for a question. “What were Mikey and I doing before you got here?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “He was trying to unplug that goddamn amp from the warzone that is your back room. You were bugging him to make out. Give me a harder one.”

Obviously not convinced, Pete sits up and grabs Mikey’s shoulder, tugging him over and whispering something into his ear.

“Your number is six thousand, nine hundred and sixty-nine,” Gerard sighs. “Also, that stopped being funny in sixth grade. Look, just -- why would we even lie about this? I know what you look like when my brother comes in your ass. Deal with it.”

It shuts Pete up, if nothing else. He chews his lip in thought while Mikey shifts covertly back to Gerard’s side.

“So that means I’ve been having a threesome this whole time,” he says at last.

They nod simultaneously.

“ _Why have you waited so long to tell me this?_ ” Pete grins, suddenly bursting with energy. “This is fucking awesome! Just think of all the cool shit we could do! We can be like, spies and stuff, and you guys are like a living walkie-talkie--”

“We’re not gonna be spies,” Gerard cuts in. “You already know all the classified info anyway.”

Pete smirks. “Well, we can at least do some crazy shit,” he says. He has an idea by the looks of it, which is never a good sign. “Wait here.”

Against their better judgment, Mikey and Gerard wait on the couch, exchanging nervous looks. Their stomachs flutter in unison. The whole thing is still pretty damn exciting, because Mikey’s not yet over the thrill of the new relationship, and Pete’s full of surprises.

They can hear him rummaging around in his bunk. ‘This is a sex thing, isn’t it?’ Mikey wonders.

Gerard shrugs. ‘Probably.’

As it turns out, it is indeed a sex thing. Pete emerges triumphant, holding a pair of pink padded handcuffs.

“Those are pretty heavy-duty,” Mikey teases, standing up to trail a hand down Pete’s chest. “Why haven’t I seen them before?”

“They’re Patrick’s,” he says offhandedly. Then he laughs at Gerard’s and Mikey’s matching gasps of horror. “Don’t worry; he’s not gonna miss them,” Pete reassures them. He’s already busy looping them through the handle of the emergency escape window behind Mikey and cuffing Mikey’s hands in place, effectively suspending his them next to his ears.

Mikey starts squirming immediately, wriggling his little hips and testing the cuffs. Gerard doesn’t need telepathy to tell that it’s just for show. He knows how much Mikey likes to be restrained.

On the very first leg of their first tour, when Mikey was still experimenting with accessories, he’d had this little studded choker with a ring in the back. They’d all gotten a little drunk and Frank decided it would be hilarious to loop his tie through the back of it and tether Mikey to the van’s fender. Mikey squirmed the whole time but never really resisted. He might not have been hard but he sure as hell was fighting it off. Admittedly, Gerard had helped, but he’d also been the one to untie him before anybody got a hold of the keys. He’d known since they were kids, but that was the incident that stood out most in his mind.

Anyway, once Mikey determines that he’s not getting loose without standing up, the flush of satisfaction creeps onto Gerard’s face too.

He startles when Pete wraps an arm around him from behind, pulling him backwards and off balance. He eases Gerard to the floor until they’re kneeling face to face. With a sly smile, Pete leans in to lick at the seam of Gerard’s lips, tongue delving inside when they part. He’s a very dominant kisser, which Gerard can live with. He just a bit violated when Pete pulls away.

“Can you feel that?” He asks, turning to Mikey.

Mikey nods silently, sort of smiling but mostly not. He’s anxious but in a good way, turned on and possessive, though of whom, Gerard isn’t sure. Maybe Mikey isn’t either.

“So you’re saying--” and Pete tangles a hand in Gerard’s hair, wrenching his head back with unexpected force. Gerard and Mikey gasp in unison, Gerard unconsciously spreading his legs a fraction of an inch. “Whatever I do to him, you feel?”

Gerard grits his teeth. “B-basically,” he says. Mikey nods in agreement.

Pete’s hand is still twisted tightly in Gerard’s hair. He shifts forward and guides Gerard onto his lap, so that Gerard is straddling him.

“Do you squeal like him, I wonder?” With his free hand, Pete roughly squeezes Gerard through his jeans, illiciting an involuntary hiss. “Guess we’ll see,” he says.

Mikey watches through lidded eyes as Pete unzips Gerard’s fly. He’s going commando because he’s a nasty motherfucker and doesn’t have any clean underwear, which means that Mikey shudders as soon as the rush of cold air hits him. Fuck, Pete’s grinning up at Gerard like he wants to eat him alive -- in fact, it’s a pretty real possibility with all those fucking teeth.

Gerard wants him so badly. He’s still conflicted because, unlike Mikey, Gerard has this weird sense of morality that only he understands. It doesn’t matter, of course, because any issues he had with fucking Pete are slowly dissolving, but it’s still _there_ , still bothering him. Mikey feels the helpless desire coursing through him. All Gerard can do is focus on is Pete’s hand slowly stroking him and silently beg him _faster harder faster_.

Suddenly, Pete shoves Gerard over onto his back and pins his hands above his head. Mikey actually gasps, twisting in his restraints. They’re about the same size but Pete is much stronger, and Mikey loves knowing that Pete can actually keep his brother where he wants him. He’s gentle with Gerard, but he doens’t _have_ to be.

Gerard groans and grinds upward, his exposed cock rubbing against Pete’s belly. Pete smirks and kisses him again, so deeply that Mikey can’t fucking breathe. When he pulls away Gerard is panting, face flushed. He’s so fucking pretty like this, spread out and used. He’s a bit guilty to admit it, but Mikey sort of enjoys seeing his brother helpless like this, his dirty hair clinging to his forehead. He imagines Pete fucking him -- pressing his face into the carpet and just using him like a cheap whore--

Halfway through another kiss, Gerard pulls away to snicker at him. Mortified, Mikey slaps a hand over his mouth as if he’d actually said it out loud.

Pete furrows his eyebrows, glancing from Gerard to Mikey’s flushed face and back. “What? What am I missing?”

“He forgot I was listening,” Gerard grins. He’s pretty goddamn amused by this, and it only makes Mikey more embarrassed. “He was fantasizing about us.” He turns to Mikey. “Go ahead, tell him what you were thinking about.”

Mikey just widens his eyes and shakes his head. He’s not normally this shy around Pete, but they’re teaming up against him!

Gerard rolls his eyes. “He wants you to fuck me,” he tells Pete. “He says he likes it when I’m all, like, degraded and shit.” He smiles. “He said I was _pretty_.”

“He’s right,” Pete agrees, releasing Gerard’s hands and roughly turning him over.

Gerard just smiles to himself, kicking his jeans the rest of the way off. He wiggles his ass and arches his back, showing off for the two of them. Of course; he’s always been a bit of an exhibitionist. The rest of the band might think that he’s just catering to the crowd when he touches himself on stage, but Mikey knows better, and he teases him about it every chance he gets. He doesn’t feel like teasing now, though.

While Pete stumbles off to get lube and condoms, Mikey just sits there and watches. This feels so fucking wrong. Not the sort of wrong that makes him want to stop, the sort that makes his cock twitch every time Gerard shakes his hair out of his face.

The two of them have never fucked, but it’s never really been off limits, either. Mikey fantasizes about Gerard plenty. He remembers trying to hide it the first time he had a wet dream about his brother -- Gerard holding Mikey against the tiled shower wall, them naked, kissing and touching before Mikey really understood sex -- and he remembers how fucking hard it was, not thinking about it. Gerard figured it out pretty much immediately, and since then neither of them have hidden just how attractive they find each other. It’s just, they’ve never actually had sex in the conventional sense of the word. There have been times when they jerked off together in different rooms, feeling each other’s touch, Gerard telling Mikey how fucking beautiful his body is, how much he loves him. They haven’t ever needed ‘real’ sex, not when they’re already inside each other all the time.

That doesn’t make it feel any less taboo, Mikey watching Gerard twist and groan as Pete slowly fingers him open. Gerard is incoherent, panting at the ground with his head hung and his shoulder blades arched up like wings. It feels so fucking good. They want more almost as soon as Pete adds a second finger, but Mikey is the one who asks.

“Please, fuck me already,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut, clenching rhythmically just for the sensation.

Pete glances up at him, surprise written across his face. He’s still bewildered by the two of them, understandably. They’re still pretty bewildered themselves.

He obliges without a word, removing his fingers and lining himself up. Mikey and Gerard both gasp when he pulls out and groan when he shoves back in, a single, slow thrust that has his balls pressed against Gerard’s ass.

“Motherfucker,” Gerard hisses. It’s his default curse, Mikey knows, but it’s distinctly positive in this context.

‘Shh, I know it hurts. Relax with me,’ Mikey thinks.

Gerard’s response isn’t fully formed but is generally defiant, because Gerard’s a man and he can take this, thank you very much. He relaxes anyway.

Pete fucks him hard enough that Gerard has to twist his hands in the stupid, disgusting fucking shag carpet to stay in place. He shudders with each thrust. The relaxing thing just doesn’t come naturally. Every instinct is telling him to tense up, to draw Pete closer. He does, intermittently, enjoying the way both Pete and Mikey groan, even though Mikey knows it’s coming, but it hurts too much if he tries to keep it up.

Eventually his arms get tired and he gives up holding himself upright, panting into the carpet. Pete grabs his hips to keep him from sliding, pulling him back into every thrust, and Gerard whines and groans and whimpers like amateur porn.

“Pete, fuck,” Mikey groans. When Gerard turns toward him, Mikey is arching off the couch, squirming and rubbing his thighs together. “Fucking touch us,” he says.

And then _yes yes yes_ Pete’s hand is wrapped around his cock, jerking him off in quick, messy strokes. He wraps his other arm around Gerard’s chest and bends fully over his back, nuzzling into Gerard’s hair. “Come for me, Mikey,” he whispers, barely audible over the sound of skin against skin.

With a broken cry, Mikey spills over his stomach. Gerard groans with him, riding out Mikey’s orgasm and drooling into the rug, Pete’s arm sweaty against his abdomen. He comes soon after his brother, panting and shaking and letting Pete support his full weight because he sure as hell can’t do it himself.

Pete is silent when he comes, just stiffening and shoving in as deep as he can go.

The bus is so quiet that Gerard can hear Jepha and Bert laughing outside, probably drunk off their asses. It’s not the most pleasant afterglow he’s ever experienced.

Finally, Pete pulls out and does a half-assed job of cleaning them up, completely forgetting about Mikey until he clears his throat.

“Sorry,” he shrugs, obviously not sorry in the least. He uncuffs Mikey and scrapes most of the come off him with a hand, wiping it on the arm of the couch.

They breathe.

“Wait,” Pete asks. “Did you guys come twice?”

Mikey nods. “Sometimes it’s simultaneous, but that can get too intense. It hurts after awhile.”

Pete laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. “You lucky motherfuckers,” he says.

Gerard shrugs from his spot on the floor. “Not like we have any frame of reference. Our orgasms have always been better than yours.”

Pete punches Mikey in the shoulder.

“Ow,” says Gerard.


End file.
